The old man’s monocle,
Stood like a century, flat, across the canvas
Was an ocean!
And to the left a second vessel,
He watched its waves leap up, rotating
An exchanging of kisses beneath the bow,
His lens slipped, skewed;
Passed aside by a shock of crimson hair
Which lapped the sweat from his brow as would a kitten
And shaped itself, fondly,
Against the grooves where his eyes were buried.
Head erect and scanning at a pointed distance above the line of the horizon,
He saw things unimaginable in the mist.
The view from the stern
Left the sea looking crayoned,
Back and forth
Momentum leaning this way
That, his ship – It sat:
A baby in a bathtub
Held aloft by a pair of rubber life-bands,
Sat in the gap twixt the sea and the sky.